


Twenty-Eight

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Ron has to write the story of his life, but has no idea what to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty-Eight

Ron let out a huff and chucked his quill down on the desk in front of him.  There was a messy ink stain on his middle finger, which was sore, and his entire hand was cramped.  He'd written two pages and as far as he was concerned, it was all rubbish anyway.  
  
 _Like anyone's going to read this shit!_  
  
He looked over the scrawled words depicting his brief life and knew he had left out large chunks of information, but they were the parts he didn't want the rest of the Wizarding world knowing for love nor money.  Harsh breakups, the steamroller moment where he realised, out of the blue, that he quite liked men's arses, and everything that came after that moment, especially.  
  
He'd especially relished eliminating the screaming argument with his mother over the subject.  
  
Why anybody would want to read about the life and times of Ronald Bilius Weasley, Ron had no idea, but ten years on from the Battle of Hogwarts, the press had started up again -where _were_ the Golden Trio? What were they doing? Who were they in love with?  
  
Ron made a face at the parchment and wished it would burst into flame spontaneously, and then he could put off handing it in for another month or two.  His schedule was so busy that it had taken him weeks to be able to find any time at all to sit down and attempt to write even a single word.  He'd been glad of the procrastination.  
  
He coughed, knowing the draft would probably be returned to him with a request for further and better detail.    Nobody would care about his rise through the Ministry -they would want juicy gossip, like lovers and fast broomsticks.  
  
Ron had neither to write about.  
  
 _Liar._  
  
He grinned secretively at his words and knew there was no chance in hell that he would ever detail what might be budding in the future in what would be his 'biography' for at least another ten years.  He was well aware that what he was doing might go up in smoke and take him with it, but he was willing to take the risk.  
  
How it had happened, he had absolutely no idea, but somewhere between feeling lost and lone, pathetically moping around his flat on a Friday night instead of shagging the talent in the Wizarding gay district, he had struck up an odd attachment with the least likely of men.  
  
“Will you stop huffing over your ridiculous bit of parchment?”  
  
The rebuke was as sharp as ever.  Ron dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling.  The back of his neck ached from straining over the biography for far too long.  
  
“Nobody's going to read it anyway.”  
“Mm,” Ron agreed in a non-committal hum.    
“I don't know why they bother to terrorise for the bloody things.”  
“Dunno 'bout you, but I'm a war hero.”  Ron yawned, suddenly tired.  
  
He had grown used to the sharp wit and comments of Severus Snape, but sometimes they grated on him as much as they had done at Hogwarts.  
  
“There are no heroes in war,” Severus said bitterly.  “Only victims and victors.”  
“And which are which?” Ron asked.  
  
There was no answer for him and of that he was glad; he didn't think he had the brainpower left to be drawn into yet another argument.   The constant bickering was one of the thousand reasons why he couldn't see their union surviving beyond the honeymoon period, where the sex was still good and their annoyances were forgiven.    
  
Not that Severus had ever really forgiven him anything.  In short, Ron knew what he would be signing up for should he decide to remain with the stiff, tight-laced wizard reclining by the fire.  
  
Their meeting had been completely chance and, in his usual style, had been through his own clumsiness.  After apologising profusely for soaking the man's shirt in whisky, spelling it clean and re-buying his drink, he had stared awkwardly at the person who had taught him for six years of his life and been his enemy and found himself compelled to say more.  
  
 _Talking should never have led to lots more drinks and a drunken fuck, though._  
  
Somehow, Ron had been disappointed.  It was as if he had expected more of Severus Snape than to be let into his body and soul on that first night –that he expected to have to work for the privilege of even being allowed to breathe the same air as the man.  
  
All he had learnt was that they walked the same ground, they spoke the same words (mostly, even though Severus sounded like he'd swallowed a dictionary much of the time) and the Slytherin man did everything that he did, including swear when he tripped over something in the dark in the middle of the night.  
  
Ron knew that from experience.  
  
He smiled to himself remembering the way he had grinned into his pillow and pretended to be asleep as Severus had returned to the bed, still muttering about the pain.  They had shared a bed a grand total of four times and it never stopped surprising Ron that Severus permitted him to remain after the act was done.  
  
The sex was amazing.  Ron had always heard that opposites attracted and Gryffindors and Slytherins were apparently no exception.  He supposed he should stop referring to and defining them by their school houses, but it was hard when their differences were so very obvious.  
  
“Would you like me to read it for you?” Severus asked.  His body heat made the back of Ron's neck tingle as the man drew closer, bending to peer over Ron's shoulder to look at the parchment.  “You've spelt that wrong.”  One long, tapered finger hovered over a word.  Ron didn't even bother to look at it.  He was positive the whole thing was ridden with spelling errors, but he didn't really care.  “You've not written very much, have you?”  
  
Ron shrugged and got to his feet, leaving Severus standing by the small desk. “What's there to write about?  I'm not going to pretend to be interesting so they can sell papers.”  
“Ah but you're a war hero,” Severus pointed out, his lips in a smirk.  “Of course people will be interested... but  little do they know that one of their boy wonders is living a dark, perverted lie...”  
  
Thin arms encircled Ron's waist and Severus' chest pressed into his back.  Ron remained completely still and let the man have him as he wanted him.  
  
“You don't have to live the lie, you know.  At any point you can write a new ending for that biography.  Announce to the world your not-so-flagrant sexuality. It'll be the scandal of the century: 'non-camp man announces homosexual fancies.' What do you think?”  
“Funnily enough, I'm not keen.” Ron rolled his eyes at the wall.    
  
A soft kiss pressed into the side of his throat and the mouth that delivered it lingered there.  
  
“You have control of the story of your life, Ron, don't forget that.”  
“And what if I want that to continue with you?”  
“Rather than me being a passing chapter? Stingingly titled, I'm sure.”  
“I've been looking for someone for seven years.”  Ron shifted his weight awkwardly between his feet.  “And I kind of think that I'd resigned myself to being alone.”  
“God, you're so young.  How ridiculous.”  
“Thanks, that makes me feel great,” Ron muttered.  
  
His neck was kissed again.  
  
“And are you saying that being with me has made you revise your estimations of your future?” Severus murmured in his ear.  
“I don't want to say yes,” Ron admitted. “I'm afraid of your reaction.”  
“Perhaps it will be more favourable than you think... perhaps I, too, have thought of being alone for too long... perhaps I'm tired of never having anybody there, Ron.”  
  
Ron said nothing and stared at the wall opposite, unable to tear his thoughts from the piece of parchment waiting on his desk to be owled to The Daily Prophet.  He had the maddest urge to run to it and scratch out the truth with his quill and have done with it.  
  
“Your life won't be ending at twenty-eight, Ron,” Severus whispered to him.  “Not if you don't want it to.”  
“And yours?”  
“That entirely depends on you at this moment.  Either way, you've got to re-write that biography.  At the moment it reads like a mildly interesting eulogy, and as we've discussed, your life is not ending.  Your story has a long way to go yet...”  
  
Ron ducked his head and smiled at the floor.  
  
“Might I suggest dinner?  And then... maybe...”  Severus' hand slipped down to rub over his crotch.  “Would that be a tolerable start to the rest of your life?”  
“Absolutely.”


End file.
